Thursday, February 27, 2014

I brought my new laptop upstairs with me and for the first time, into my studio. It feels momentous, somehow. My fingers itching to type on clean, thin black keys, and exhale away all the long days and short nights.

Sitting here, I know that this little makeshift studio of mine is the place where I feel most safe. The most me.

I remember the empty space when we first moved in. This odd little two-and-a-half feet deep window inlet that seemed very impractical at the time, turned out to be the exact place where I would begin to self-identify as an artist. Somehow, we acquired a delightfully simple vintage table with a sweet character of its own that fit perfectly in the odd little spot, and it was as if they were made for each other--object and space. Object and space, together with a window. And it is here that I can sit for hours inventing things and letting home dream out of me in the form of words, ink and paint.

There are kind books here. There are uplifting colors. There are inspiring art pieces from my creative heroes hanging from an old over-sized cooling rack for baking pinned to the wall. There is Jason's wedding boutonniere lovingly handmade by a dearest friend; the one that went missing on our wedding day to go on some adventure of its own, but somehow made its way back to us months after we shared our vows.

There is whimsy clipped out of magazines--but not the kind you'd find here in our homeland--the kind that travel from Australia or New Zealand or Canada to find my doorstep and bring me calm and perspective and light. There are pressed leaves from the east coast and further. There are watercolors circles with their colors bleeding into different hues of themselves and paintbrushes standing tall nearby.

There are miniature colored pencils that I doubt I'll ever use because they are too perfect the way they are with their sharp little cheery tips showing off their personality. There are rows of Japanese washi tape and patterned strings of bunting that hang happily in the air reminding me that colors are a gift. There are stacks of instant film photographs of memories and scenes tucked away inside their charming little white borders. There are old letters penned by dear friends and the most beautiful mixed CDs one could hope to find, because Bryan orchestrated their existence with his heart.

Sometimes, I let purring Nadia join me for a while, but her curiosity always works against her and eventually, I have to kindly turn her out into the hall. But, she is a sweetened part of life, so she belongs here, too.

It has become a sacred space to me for it is where I express who I am and what I see in the world that is bright and sweet and real. And when I show someone this place, it is like sharing with them a secret, and trusting that they'll see something good and maybe even kind of beautiful in it. Sometimes, for the briefest of moments, I expect them to feel what I feel when I reside here. But that is silly.

Welcome, Nicodemus (for that is what Jason named my laptop). This is your new home. I hope you'll find it to your liking.

iphone | homespace
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved


Bryan Schnebelt said...

I am so very happy for you, friend. A new Mac is a beautiful thing, but what is even more lovely is to have a space to call your own. Creativity fosters more brilliantly when we feel safe and surrounded by inspiring influences. May you find wonders on your new technological device...

Nat King Cole said...

This sounds wonderfully perfect, I could use such a space myself. Soon enough.

Kimberly said...

I treasure your comments, lovelies. You two are such kindreds and part of my very heart.